


Down From The Garden

by angeleledhwen (kallistei), eledhwen (kallistei)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-18
Updated: 2003-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1880181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistei/pseuds/angeleledhwen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistei/pseuds/eledhwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rewards of victory are not always quite as expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down From The Garden

**Author's Note:**

> For the SnapexHarryML Writing Contest. Challenge – Snape and Harry are caught in the rain, far from Hogwarts, without their wands. Thanks to Isis for the beta, and to Obscurus for harassing me to write this challenge.

Voldemort finally met his end on a beautiful August afternoon, after six years of open war. Afterwards, the sun shone down incongruously on the bodies littering the once-pristine field where the last battle had been fought. Here and there a body stirred, groaning softly in pain or exhaustion, as others wandered the field, attempting to help those more injured than themselves. All those still moving were from the ‘Light’ side – not one of Voldemort’s allies had survived this last battle, though their deaths had been dearly bought. The air was warm and humid, and the smell of ozone lingered in pockets where the battle had been most bitterly contested.

Over at one edge of the field, near the pile of black robes and bodies marking the spot where Voldemort had made his last stand, two ragged figures slowly pulled each other to their feet. They stood there for a moment, attempting to get their bearings. Then the shorter bent again with the other’s support. He painfully gathered up their wands from the ground where they had been dropped when they collapsed, moving as if the action took the last of his strength. His tired muscles protested and his wounds – both old and fresh - reminded him sharply of their presence as he scooped up the wands. Straightening again, he handed one to his partner.

The other man carefully freed a hand and tucked his wand away securely into his robes. They both wavered unsteadily, and he hurriedly wrapped an arm around his partner’s waist again before they could fall. Then, still holding each other up, they stumbled towards the main part of the field. As they neared, the closest people turned to glance at them, and then stare outright, before turning determinedly back to their business. Reunions would have to wait until their more important work could be finished. All except two, that was.

“Harry!” a young female voice cried, the woman lifting her left hand to wave excitedly and with more than a hint of relief. Gold glinted on her ring finger, marred by a bloodstain. She was dressed in what had once been pristine Aurors’ robes, but they were now ragged and torn, from battle and being looted to create makeshift bandages. Her cry was echoed by a similarly dressed – and exhausted-appearing - young man, whose red hair was matted with sweat. They both rushed towards the pair.

Harry Potter, who after twenty-four years was finally free of his ‘great destiny’, glanced up at the other man. Receiving a faint, understanding, half-smile and a nod, he freed himself from his partner’s grasp. He managed to stand alone, swaying slightly with a combination of exhaustion and pain, moments before his friends reached him.

Hermione immediately pulled Harry into a fierce hug, nearly knocking him over with the impact as she practically tackled him in her happiness. Harry gasped a little as a few more injuries protested, but hugged her back just as fiercely. He was glad that his friends seemed all right, so glad that he could almost forget for a moment the decidedly not all right people that surrounded them. Ron stopped a few metres away, wondering what to do. After a moment, he shrugged, and embraced them both, if a little awkwardly at first, as the sun blazed down benevolently on them.

The other man remained where he was, watching the three younger wizards, not trusting himself to move unaided just yet without falling on his face. He smiled a little wider, secure in the knowledge that Harry and his friends were too caught up in each other to notice his scrutiny or his reaction. A minute later, Minerva McGonagall hurried up to him.

“Severus!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a hug despite his best attempts at resistance. When he realised it was futile, he relaxed slightly, and after a short while, she let him go. “It’s good to see you still with us,” she said quietly, with a little smile. “If you’ll come with me? Albus wants to see you, but it’s not safe to move him just yet.” Following his gaze, she added, “Don’t worry. Harry will be fine with them.”

Severus looked down at her as sharply as he could through a haze of exhaustion, about to deny any concern. Thinking better of it, he simply nodded after a moment. Giving one last glance to Harry, almost buried under the enthusiastic welcome of his friends, he followed her slowly.

***

The clean-up operation afterwards was almost as exhausting as the war itself. Severus and Harry helped as much as they could, falling exhausted into bed at the end of every day. Working so hard at least meant they had less time to remember, and grieve. Every day some of the fallen were buried. As much as everyone wanted to finish with them, move on, and let the pain of loss fade, there were simply too many dead to bury in one day, and no one wanted to slight them after their sacrifice.

The last funerals were held just over two weeks after the final battle. That evening, Severus and Harry were sitting in their rooms – officially Severus’, but Harry rarely spent time in his own. They were talking quietly, Harry’s head resting on the other man’s thigh. Several of Harry’s year-mates had been among those laid to rest that day, and he felt rather in need of such simple consolation. They had just fallen into a comfortable silence when their fire crackled and Albus Dumbledore’s head appeared in it. “Severus, Harry,” he said. “I thought I’d find you together. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all,” replied Severus, casting an amused look at Harry.

“In that case, would the two of you mind coming up to my office for a few minutes? As soon as you can, please.” Harry frowned as he registered the seriousness of the Headmaster’s expression. Whatever this visit was, it seemed not to be for any promising reason. He wished that it could have waited another few weeks, until he was feeling a bit more himself, until the memories had a chance to fade a little.

“We’ll be right there,” Severus replied after another look at Harry. As Dumbledore’s face winked out, he sighed, urging Harry up and reaching for his outer robes, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor with Harry’s.

“Well, I guess we’d better get going,” Harry said reluctantly. The two men shrugged on their robes and left the sanctuary of their rooms. Hogwarts was very different now than it had been when Harry first saw it. Most of the damage had been hastily patched over, but most of the paintings – centuries in the accumulating - were gone, beyond repair, and even those that could be repaired had to wait for more important things to be completed.

They hurried through the deserted corridors to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster’s office. Harry muttered the password – “Cauldron Cake” – and they were at the door within minutes, pausing just outside to compose themselves. They could hear voices inside, one Dumbledore’s, the other easily recognisable as Minister Fudge’s, which boded even less well.

Harry hesitated, inclined to stay outside and eavesdrop for a moment. Severus gave him a look, shook his head slightly, and tapped on the door.

“Come in,” Dumbledore called, and the two wizards walked in side by side. They took the offered seats and prepared to face whatever unpleasant surprise the Minister had up his sleeve.

They sat in uneasy silence for a few moments. Dumbledore’s forehead was creased worriedly as he looked down at a scroll in front of him, and Fudge had not looked at them after the first glance to confirm their identity. In fact, he seemed to be avoiding their gaze. That was a bad combination. Harry caught himself fidgeting with the end of his sleeve and stopped himself just as Dumbledore broke the quiet. 

“The Minister has a new… pronouncement that he wished to share with me before it is announced in a few weeks. I thought that the two of you should be informed, since… well. Perhaps it would be best if you read it rather than hearing it from me.”

Severus was becoming more and more worried, although his expression was, for the moment, impassive. He wished that Dumbledore would just tell them what this new problem was without beating about the bush, so they could begin to find ways around it. He took the leaf of parchment handed to him, though, and began to read, leaning over the arm of his chair slightly so that Harry, leaning similarly, could see it too. Before he was halfway through he paled, and then flushed angrily on reading a little further. He made a hastily aborted motion to stand, visibly taking hold of himself before he continued reading, his eyes flicking faster over the page. When Harry reached the same place a few moments later, his reaction was similar. He, however, practically leapt out of his chair in indignation.

“You can’t be serious!” he exclaimed, coming perilously close to shouting, his hands fisted in his robes so hard that his knuckles showed white, eyes wide, face set in angry lines. “You… this is ridiculous! After everything we’ve done…” He trailed off, unable to put his feelings – horror, rage, betrayal, shock - into any sort of coherent sentence.

Severus finished reading at this opportune moment, and said, with calm certainty, “You’ll never get this past the rest of the Ministry.”

“I already have, Professor.” Fudge smiled smugly and turned to Harry, not quite looking him in the eye. “And it is exactly because of what you have done, Professor Potter. While we all appreciate it, of course, my colleagues, like me, feel people who have broken such important rules – laws, even - cannot be allowed to run around freely. Although, of course, allowances have been made for the… difficult circumstances, and for your valuable service.”

“Difficult circumstances?” interjected Harry. “I’ll give you difficult circumstances!” ‘Valuable service’, Fudge had said, as if he was a servant, had performed a simple errand for the Minister.

“Now, Harry,” Dumbledore broke in, seeing the situation getting rapidly out of hand. He could understand Harry’s anger, but he could also see the young man’s hand creeping towards the pocket that held his wand, and he knew he had to prevent that at all costs.

“I have to agree with Harry,” Severus added coolly, completely unmoving, but something very dangerous flickered in his eyes. The temptation to stand and rage was almost overwhelming – he could outdo Harry, when he allowed himself – but that would seal their fate. 

Fudge’s eyes widened at the menace in the man’s tone, and he shifted nervously in his chair as if it was suddenly horribly uncomfortable. “This is precisely what I meant to prevent,” he said in a voice that faltered slightly. “You have become too used to having everything your way. It was, perhaps, necessary, but now we are at peace – you are too dangerous to leave uncontrolled. Allowances have been made, but if you continue to be difficult, they can easily be removed. There are still a number of free cells in Azkaban.”

“You… you’re threatening us?” Harry asked incredulously, but he reluctantly took his seat again at another warning look from Dumbledore.

“Not at all,” the Minister replied, more smoothly now that Harry was a little further away and Snape was no longer glaring at him, instead directing his gaze at his folded hands. “This is for your safety as much as everyone else’s. I cannot believe that the public will look kindly on people who have used Unforgivables, especially to the extent the two of you and your colleagues have, once the initial glow of victory has worn off. This will help to protect everyone concerned. It is for everyone’s protection,” he repeated.

Harry spluttered indignantly, seemingly unable to form complete words any longer. Dumbledore decided this would be a good moment to step in again. “Minister. It seems you are determined on this course, but perhaps we can discuss some of the details.” This time, it was Severus’ turn to splutter. At least part of the reason he’d controlled his earlier reaction was his certainty that the Headmaster would object too – and have more of an effect on Fudge than he could ever hope for.

“Of course, Headmaster. The details are still being finalised, and naturally your help is always valued,” Fudge said, hoping desperately that the old wizard wouldn’t have too many requests he would have to comply with. They would inevitably be too sensible to refuse, but would undermine his precious authority, and that was one thing he could not tolerate in the slightest. His position was far too valuable to him, and to keep it he needed the most powerful wizards under his control. But he also could not afford to alienate Dumbledore. He hadn’t a hope in hell of controlling him.

“I see that it says here that the wizards and witches in question are to be given the choice between working for the Ministry, or handing in their wands and leaving the wizarding world. I’d like to add one more option, if possible,” Dumbledore said.

“Yes?”

“Obviously, you see that I cannot possibly do without my Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers, especially considering our current circumstances. I’d like employment at Hogwarts, under my supervision, to be added to the choices.” His tone made it very clear that this was not a request in the slightest. “I hope you consider me trustworthy enough to oversee them.”

“I… well…” Fudge dithered, looking for any way out. Snape and Potter were at the top of the list of people he wanted under his eye. Dumbledore fixed him with a glare that rivalled Snape’s best, and he gave in hurriedly. That look brought up memories of the one time he’d had to visit the Headmaster’s office for punishment. 

“That is acceptable, of course,” he replied, scrambling for some remnant of dignity. “I shall have it added tomorrow.” Turning to the other two, he added with false confidence, “You have a week’s grace. I suggest you use it wisely to make your decision.” Not that there would be any ‘decision’, he thought. They would stay at Hogwarts, and he… would be slightly less nervous, but not nearly so much as if they were safely at the Ministry, or even in Azkaban. Those two were dangerous, especially together.

***

Harry was still seething as he and Severus made their way back to their rooms. “How dare he?” he muttered. “I… we all! We did so much, so many people died and he wants to punish us for it? For doing what we had to do so idiots – useless cowardly idiots like him who didn’t lift a hand to help and can’t see something new without being scared of it and wanting to destroy it – idiots like him could live their pointless lives!” He was shouting by the time he reached the end of the sentence, his voice echoing off the walls as the remaining portraits looked on with unabashed curiosity. His face was flushed with anger, his fists clenched tightly, held rigidly at his sides as if he was barely managing to resist the temptation to punch something.

“Harry. Harry, calm down,” Severus said, stopping abruptly in the middle of the corridor. He turned to face Harry and took him by the shoulders, holding the other man as if he could force composure on him by the simple pressure of his hands. “There’s got to be a way around it. There always is. And for now, it’s not as though anything’s really going to change for us.”

“Calm down?” Harry easily shrugged off the other man’s hold and strode further down the corridor, trying to avoid being touched again. “You’re telling me to calm down? Maybe for us, nothing’s going to change, but what about for everyone else? What about Ron and Hermione? They’re going to be split up, given new, less ‘dangerous’ partners. You saw that thing, the conditions he put on everything.” Harry stopped and glared at one of the portraits which hadn’t been careful enough about hiding its scrutiny before he continued. “How long do you think that an ‘exception’ for us is going to last, anyway? And if people hadn’t been thinking about us – all of us! - as ‘dangerous’ before, they’re certainly going to be now!”

“You forget, I’m used to people thinking of me as dangerous,” Severus said quietly, but Harry didn’t hear, or perhaps chose not to listen. And that was the end of that particular conversation. Severus sighed, hurrying slightly to catch up with Harry as he muttered the password to their rooms at the portrait that guarded them.

The portrait had been of the Founders, before the attack on Hogwarts in Harry’s second year of teaching. Now, it was one of the old Headmasters, on loan from Dumbledore. Harry found that now he rather missed the constant bickering of the Founders – on everything from the cut of their robes to the applications of their ideals through the centuries - although he had found it almost unbearably annoying when they had been there. The new portrait was all strictly business, seeming to do little more interesting than read one of the books that lined the walls of his study. He never indulged in more than the most perfunctory conversation, either, and certainly never asked either of them to adjudicate in any disputes.

Harry continued to mutter under his breath as he fairly stormed through their rooms to the bathroom, and Severus brooded silently, thinking about what Harry had said as well as the Minister’s intentions. For the rest of the day, they only spoke to each other when absolutely necessary.

***

Harry wandered around looking very thoughtful for the next several days. Severus subtly tried to get him to talk about it a few times. He knew, with four years’ experience of living with Harry, how dangerous it could be when he brooded on things. However, Harry evaded every one of his hints, and the one time Severus grew frustrated enough by his silence to ask outright, he merely replied, “It’s nothing. I’m just thinking,” which Severus couldn’t challenge, but which also told him precisely nothing.

Eventually, two days before the official announcement of Fudge’s new plan, Harry broached the subject that had been bothering him. “What are you going to do?” he asked without preamble. He was lying on his front on the rug in front of the fire, his hands buried under the cushion that supported his head. For the past hour, he had been staring attentively into the flames, as if they would offer some wondrous advice that would free him of his dilemma if he could only manage to stare them into submission. Now he turned his head, craning his neck to look equally intently up at Severus.

The other man looked up from his book, surprised by the seriousness in Harry’s voice. “About what?” he asked, frowning slightly.

“About that whole ‘put up with supervision or leave’ business Fudge’s going to spring on everyone tomorrow,” Harry dropped his head back onto the cushion, turning his face away again.

“I’m going to stay here, of course. I’m certainly not going to work for the Ministry with a supervisor to ensure I’m using my skills in appropriate ways when I still have a place here. And I’m going to make sure Albus starts looking for a way around this whole ridiculous business,” Severus said, as if there had never been any other possible choice. For him, there never had been.

“Hmm.”

“That sounds ominous,” Severus said, suddenly extremely aware of every nuance in the voice that he now knew so well. He used a well-worn piece of soft leather to mark his place and put the book carefully on the rather cluttered side-table. Then he moved to kneel on the floor beside the other man, placing a hand gently on his back, feeling the tension in the familiar muscles under the light shirt. There was a scar just under his hand, he knew, one of Harry’s many little souvenirs of his three months as Draco’s prisoner. Severus’ thumb rubbed little circles over the spot as he asked, “What are you going to do, my Harry?”

Harry ignored the question, turning under his hand so that it ended resting on his belly, and looked up into Severus’ face. “It’s not right!” he said softly, his voice threatening to crack in the middle. “I did everything they wanted me to do, I lost my family and my friends, and Sirius, and Fred, and I almost lost you. I didn’t want to have to kill him, but I didn’t want anyone else to die either. And they wanted me – us -to kill him. To kill them. And now they turn around and say that actually that was all wrong and we should have found some other way to do it.” His voice did crack then, from the confusing mixture of emotions that filled him almost to overflowing, his face contorting.

“It hurt every time I had to use those curses, and I know Ron and Hermione and everyone else felt the same way, but we did it because we had to. We did it for them. Now… they say that they didn’t want us to do it. That it’s not enough that I’m beating myself up about it. No, they have to do it for me as well. And it’s just… just… not right! How can they do it?”

He broke off, choking on a sob of frustration, anger and something close to grief that he wouldn’t release, his eyes fixed on Severus’ as if begging him to explain how this could be. His left hand came up to wrap around the wrist of the hand still rubbing useless attempts at soothing into his skin, clinging to it as if it was the sole remnant of sanity in a world he had suddenly realised was mad beyond hope of redemption.

Severus sighed, moving his hand so the fingers tangled with Harry’s and shifted gently until he was lying on his side next to him. Working his arms around the younger man, he pulled him nearer until they were pressed together. Maybe, if he pulled hard enough, they could shut out the world – and more importantly, the people in it - that had destroyed his illusions long ago, and were now callously going about destroying Harry’s. He sighed again. “I don’t know,” he whispered, strands of the other man’s hair, disturbed by his breath, tickling his lips. He pressed closer still, burying his face in the soft hair. “I don’t know,” he repeated, even more quietly.

They lay there for a few more minutes in silence. Harry’s distressed, faintly laboured breaths struggled to lift the weight of Severus’ arm, comfortingly heavy on his chest. Eventually, they calmed slightly; Harry’s eyes fell shut involuntarily, relaxed by the warmth and the comfort of the other man’s arms around him. Severus brushed a soft kiss on his cheek and finally spoke again. “You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“I know.” Harry turned his head slightly, trying to avoid the question for as long as he could. All of a sudden, he found he wasn’t ready to say what he’d decided. Not just yet. Let them have this moment of peace first – it couldn’t, wouldn’t, last.

“What are you going to do, Harry?” Severus repeated. He was sure what the answer would be, now – he had suspected it for a while - but he wanted to hear it from the other man.

“I… I think I’m going to give up my wand. I think I’m going to leave.” He stopped, suddenly stunned by the finality of that statement. He’d thought it to himself often in the last few days, but it was different now that he’d said it aloud. Was he really going to give up this world – everything that meant anything to him – over this? The answer came quickly, if not easily. He’d certainly thought about it enough.

Yes. He would. And he would take anyone who would come with him.

Severus’ arms tightened around him. “Harry. You can’t mean that.” He’d expected it, but now he couldn’t accept it. “You’re really going to leave?”

Harry turned back, craning his head slightly so he could look Severus in the eye again. His heart shuddered at the look of almost-betrayal on the other man’s face, but he said, “Yes. I have to. I can’t… can’t live with Fudge, with everyone watching my every move. I thought that was all done with, finally. I won’t live here, with people wondering if I’m going to turn around and kill them. And they will. He’s going to poison their minds and… I can’t do it.”

“I… understand, I think. But. I’m going to – I have to – stay, Harry. I can’t live in the Muggle world.” His arms tightened again, almost to the edge of pain, but the younger man didn’t complain. Instead, he moved so he could mirror Severus’ position, holding him just as tightly.

“I know,” he sighed. “I understand.”

“Yes.”

They lay there for a long while, each lost in their own thoughts.

***

Almost three weeks after the meeting in Dumbledore’s office, Minister Fudge made his announcement. It was the first week of September, the sky overcast with the promise of autumn and the threat of rain. Standing on the steps of the Ministry in front of a large crowd, Fudge announced that all those who had used the Unforgivable curses in the recent war would be disciplined, by order of the Ministry.

However, he added, due to the mitigating circumstances, they would not be sent to Azkaban – as, he made it clear, some people thought they should. Rather, they would be given a choice of fates: working for the Ministry, with partners – supervisors - of his choosing; working at Hogwarts or in Hogsmeade; or giving up their wands, having a block put on their magic, and leaving the wizarding world. Any wizard – or witch – who was named in this act would not be allowed to carry their wand at any time when they were unaccompanied by another ‘trustworthy’ person. As a buzz of speculation from the observers rose, hinting at rising protest, he hastened to add that the option of leaving – he dared not call it exile - was completely reversible, and those who chose it could change their mind at any point afterwards.

Many of the people standing in the square at the foot of the steps had been invited by the Minister. Now, they looked at each other in horror and dawning understanding as they realised just why they had been asked, and what an impossible choice they had been given. Near the front, Harry and Severus stood close together, but not quite touching. Snape looked even grumpier than usual, and Harry’s face was pale but set. He was determined to do what he had to. Professor Dumbledore stood on Harry’s other side, concern written all over his face. He’d been informed of their decisions the day before, and was almost as unhappy as Severus about Harry’s. He’d tried very hard to persuade him to reconsider.

Fudge read out the names slowly, making sure that the reporters standing by had plenty of time to get each one down. The list started with Harry and Severus, and went on and on for quite some time. It took in Hermione, several Weasleys and a good number of other Gryffindors, Blaise Zabini and every other Slytherin who had fought on the ‘good’ side, a few handfuls of Ravenclaws and even a smattering of Hufflepuffs. As each name was read out, a few people standing near that person took a step away. By the time Fudge reached the end of his list, every person named was an island in the midst of the crowd, except for those who had brought their family – and the Weasleys, whose island was at least four times as large as any other.

“I shall expect your decisions by five o’clock,” he said, the sound of agitated voices rising again. “Is there anyone who has already decided?” He looked pointedly at Severus and Harry.

Severus looked at Harry, who nodded almost imperceptibly. He climbed up two steps as the crowd fell silent. “I shall be staying at Hogwarts,” he said in a voice that carried to everyone present.

Dumbledore spoke up then, not moving from his station. “Anyone who wishes to find work in Hogwarts or Hogsmeade is welcome. We shall, I am sure, be able to make room for as many of you as care to join us.”

And then it was Harry’s turn. He walked slowly up the stairs, stopping two below the top. He turned to face the sea of anxious faces, most familiar, many dear. “I shall be leaving,” he said very quietly, but every person there heard it in the near-silence that had descended. The reporters’ quills scribbled furiously, at twice their previous rate.

“Clearly there is no longer a place for me here,” Harry continued, “but I hope that there shall be more of one in the Muggle world.” That was all he had planned to say for the moment, all that he had told Severus and Dumbledore he was going to say. But now, with all those people looking up at him, some with hope growing in their expression – Harry Potter will save us, Harry will help us again – despite the bleakness of the situation, he shuddered internally and knew he had to say something more.

“Is there anyone who will join me, so we can make a place for ourselves?” He didn’t really expect an answer. Didn’t know if he wanted one at all. It would have been much easier if there was none, if he could walk away and not have to lead any more, if he could just start anew, as unlikely as that was.

For a long moment no one moved. A few drops of drizzle began to fall, slowly at first, then faster. They caught in his hair and eyelashes, and he blinked hard. He couldn’t take the risk of wiping them out of his eyes, in case people thought he was crying. He couldn’t afford to give that impression.

“I will!” a familiar voice called out unexpectedly. Hermione, for whom, like Harry, this world was still a wonder every day, something she gave thanks for constantly. And now, the only right thing to do was leave.

“Me too.” That was Ron, sounding resigned but also strangely eager. His father’s love of Muggle things had rubbed off on him as he grew older. He’d probably soon be convincing himself that this was all a great adventure, thought Harry wryly. The three of them would do well together, as they had at school. Harry couldn’t help glancing at Severus’ back, five steps down, pointedly not looking at him. Their relationship was something of an open secret, and he could only imagine what the reporters were making of all this.

Ron and Hermione began fighting their way through the stunned crowd, joined by Ginny, and Charlie, who had given up his work in Romania to fight against Voldemort and was being so well repaid. Ginny carried as many shadows in her eyes as the rest of them now, to match the shadows Tom had put in her soul when she had been only twelve. She had shown a remarkable aptitude – an instinctive grasp, almost - for the Unforgivables, when Harry had begun teaching them to the people he had commanded directly. The Weasley contingent hadn’t been far from the steps, and within a couple of minutes the four were hurrying up them to flank Harry.

As they took up their places, Severus went to rejoin Dumbledore. Ignoring the insistent drizzle, chilling him as it seeped through his heavy robes, he stared up at Harry and his unexpected allies, unable to decide if he was glad or not that Harry had found some support.

Fudge was beginning to look more than a little worried. It was not a comforting image - five people together, who he knew had used the Killing Curse and who now, through his actions, had precious little to lose.

“I shall join you,” added a quiet, carrying voice Harry had not expected to hear at all. Truthfully, he hadn’t expected anyone at all, beyond his vague hopes that his friends might want to come with him. Blaise made his way to the steps, to Harry. “I believe I may be of use,” he murmured into Harry’s ear before stepping away so Hermione could have her place back.

All of a sudden, there was a veritable flurry of “And me!” and “I’m coming too!”, people beginning to force their way to the front to join them. Soon the steps were close to crowded with perhaps a third of the people named in Fudge’s announcement. The Aurors assigned to protect the Minister had moved closer to him, were clearly preparing themselves for trouble. Harry hoped that everyone meant what they said, because he could practically see Fudge taking names, his expression a mixture of surprised and annoyed, with a little bit of frightened for leavening. Despite his assurance that people could change their choice, Harry knew that it was unlikely to be a case of the prodigal being welcomed back into the fold if they did. He knew for certain that he wouldn’t be changing his mind, wouldn’t be coming back unless something really major changed. Like the Minister of Magic, for example.

They stood there, just over twenty wizards and witches, most around Harry’s age, most with some sort of Muggle background or interest, almost equally Gryffindor and Slytherin, leavened with Ravenclaws. They stood there, with the wizarding world’s eyes on them – wizarding England’s, at any rate – and prepared to abandon their lives.

The rain was falling more heavily now, Harry’s unruly hair being forced into a sort of reluctant submission by the weight of the water collecting in it. Trickles ran down his face from his fringe, which kept flopping back every time he tried to push it out of his face. He was quite spectacularly uncomfortable, but he’d faced worse. He could have cast a spell to keep himself dry, but he had tried to only use his wand when absolutely necessary since he’d made his decision. He’d been trying to get used to not having it, after six years of being able to use it whenever he pleased.

Finally realising that they weren’t going to cause any trouble – ostensibly, at least – Fudge spoke up. “I take it you have all decided.” Nobody refuted him, and after a moment’s pause, he continued. “Very well. You have two weeks to put your affairs in order, as does anyone else who wishes to join you. I expect you to hand in your wands to me in the battlefield garden on the tenth, which is when the restrictions shall take effect for everyone.”

Fudge wasn’t quite sure what made him decide on that place – the magically enhanced garden that marked the site of the last battle. Perhaps it would shame them for abandoning their world. He had wanted them to be under control, not to leave. They were too powerful to lose for good, Harry in particular, but if those twenty-two truly left even without him, it would be a great loss for the wizarding world, especially considering the current state of the world. He had merely wanted to give them an option that would make working for the Ministry seem wonderful in comparison. He certainly hadn’t expected anyone – let alone this many – to take it.

“Those of you who have not yet made your decision, do not forget that I must be informed of it by the end of office hours today, or you shall be joining them whether or not you wish to,” he added hurriedly, wondering whether it would be a good thing or not if the leavers were to change their minds. He could not be seen to take back people who had announced so obviously that they were traitors to the wizarding world, even if they included Harry Potter. On the other hand, he couldn’t afford not to take them back if they changed their minds. He almost turned to leave before he remembered he had not ended the speech. “Thank you for your time,” he rapped out, without any truth behind the sentiment, and hurried back into the Ministry.

***

On Monday the tenth of September 2004, in the early afternoon, Harry Potter and those who had chosen to join him in his exile gathered in the constantly blooming garden that now covered the field where he had defeated Voldemort. Most of them had fought there against the Death Eaters; the rest had been too injured at the time to take part in the battle. It was raining again, a slow, constant mizzle, as if the sky could not help but weep at the injustice of what would happen here today, on the site of Harry’s greatest victory, bare weeks later. 

The original twenty-two had been joined by a half-dozen more, all of them looking decidedly nervous. Those with Muggle contacts had helped those who had none to find a place where they could stay while they found their feet in the Muggle world. Most had chosen to live with a friend or two, hoping for comfort as well as safety in numbers. Harry, Hermione and Blaise had worked for hours to ensure everyone had somewhere to go. Blaise’s father, it turned out, had a finger in a number of important Muggle pies, and he’d pulled some strings to find jobs for anyone who wanted one.

They were as ready as they would ever be, but this was a new, close to terrifying challenge even for people who had faced the worst the wizarding world had to show, and won. Fudge had graciously made arrangements for Portkeys to take each group to their chosen new habitations, and they expected to have to leave almost immediately after the bindings. Everything was prepared – as much as possible, at least. There was nothing left to do but stand around and wait for the Minister to arrive.

Severus had accompanied Harry to the garden in the end, although he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t much use as moral support, he knew, and they had already said their goodbyes once that morning after Harry had finished his packing. He hadn’t intended to come at all. But they’d been sitting on the sofa together while they waited, and when Harry had got up to leave, Severus had found himself standing and putting on his robes too, almost before he’d known what he was doing. Harry had been kind enough to not mention it, but his smile had clearly carried his gratitude for the gesture. Neither of them was exactly eager to part any sooner than necessary. On realising that they had arrived before Fudge, they let the others know they were there and then managed to find a small corner of the garden not over-run by reporters or tearful people preparing to bid each other goodbye. The temptation to take advantage of the unexpected privacy was irresistible.

As soon as he was certain that they were out of sight and earshot of everyone, Harry slipped his hand into Severus’, moved closer so that he could feel the press of the other man’s body against his right side. Severus stopped walking suddenly, turned so they were face to face. He stared into Harry’s eyes, expression inscrutable. The smell of wet earth rose all around them, almost drowning out the scent of flowers blooming as if it was still the height of summer. The air was still, chill with the approach of winter, and the sound of the masses of people not so far away carried only occasionally, faintly.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said suddenly, hissed it almost, leaning down slightly so his face was only inches from Harry’s. He had not said it at all thus far, although he had wanted to, constantly, the whole week. It had always been an unspoken promise that they would not try to hold each other down – they each had too many other people doing that.

Harry moved even closer, as if trying, vainly, to make them into one person. He fisted his free hand in the other wizard’s robes, using it to pull him closer still. “And I want you to come with me,” he muttered. “I s’pose we can’t always have what we want,” he added, unable to keep a hint of bitterness out of his voice. He rubbed his face against the scratchy wool of Severus’s robes, kept comfortably dry by a water-repelling charm. He’d miss that strange mixture – prickliness which promised only safety, now that he knew it better. He smiled in spite of himself, in spite of the situation. There was a good metaphor for Severus if ever he’d heard one.

Severus freed his hand from Harry’s, let his arms came up around him, palms pressing flat against his back. Harry’s hand unclenched itself from his robes, and he shifted to reciprocate the embrace. Severus dropped his head to rest on Harry’s shoulder, longish strands of perpetually unruly hair, flecked with rain, brushing his face. He almost took his wand out and cast a privacy charm before he did it, but thought better of it at the last minute. It was only for a moment after all – they wouldn’t be allowed more than that – and it would be too much like rubbing his continued freedom to use magic in Harry’s face. He could bear the itchy feeling at the back of his neck, the feeling of being watched, for this short while.

They listened to the rain for a while, the faint sound of voices, breathed the incongruous perfume of the flowers. “I’m going to miss this,” Harry said eventually. “I’m going to miss you.” He waited a moment, but Severus didn’t respond, didn’t even move, just breathed softly against his neck, a faintly ticklish feeling. Harry shivered with sudden awareness, the familiar leap of desire, and shuddered again at the knowledge that he’d probably never feel it this immediately again. He’d probably remember it for the rest of his life, though. He hoped he would.

He turned his head slightly, opened his mouth and hesitated, realising what he had been about to do. Then he took a deep breath and summoned all his courage, and prepared to do it intentionally. It wasn’t fair to say this now, to break open something new that they’d never have the chance to resolve, but he was going to do it anyway.

“I love you,” he whispered, half-hoping Severus wouldn’t hear it. They’d never said it, another one of those unspoken promises. It had been understood between them for years, but somehow the words had never been formed. He’d never expected Severus to say it, knowing the man so well, and he hadn’t wanted to make him uncomfortable.

Severus’ head flew up at Harry’s soft confession, and he pulled back enough to stare at the younger man, looking at him accusingly. But there was nothing to accuse him of, such being the difficulty of implicit things. His hands tightened in Harry’s robes as he tried to come up with some response.

Harry looked him in the eye for a moment, then dropped his head, faint heat rising automatically along his cheekbones. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He dropped his arms and tried to pull away, but the other man wouldn’t let him, tightening his arms possessively as if trying to make up for the sudden freedom. When Harry stopped trying to move, a hand freed itself, long fingers insistently lifting his chin, forcing him to meet the sharp gaze. The lines of tension in Severus’ face relaxed suddenly, the fingers gentling but remaining where they were, caressing slightly.

Severus’ head lowered almost impossibly slowly, for the first time in years giving Harry the time to reject it if he wished. Thin lips brushed Harry’s, the barest, shortest caress of skin on skin, and pulled away again by only a mere centimetre. They stared at each other, slightly cross-eyed from the nearness of their focus, and Harry dared a tiny half-smile, winding his arms back around Severus.

“And I love you,” Severus whispered in a tone to match Harry’s original confession. The words required an almost impossible feat of will, everything in him rebelling at the thought of exposing himself so much. In public, no less. But he also found himself understanding just why Harry had chosen to break their tacit agreement now. This was, after all, in all likelihood the last time they would ever see each other – they had decided a clean break would be easiest, though it was not easy in the slightest now. They had agreed not to try to see each other again once Harry had left, and perhaps it had to be said before then. If only just once.

He returned his mouth to Harry’s, this time with more pressure and swept his tongue across the other man’s lips, which parted willingly to allow him access. Hungrily, he caressed every familiar inch of that mouth with fanatic thoroughness, memorising it all over again.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed into the fervent kiss, submitting willingly to the almost desperate quality of it. A corner of his mind wouldn’t stop chanting ‘This is the last time. The last ever time’, though he begged it to shut up and let him just enjoy this. This last one.

He kissed back urgently, chasing Severus’ tongue back to its home so he could do his own memorising, a frantic, almost panicked edge to his movements. He tangled one hand in Severus’ hair, using it to guide him where he wanted, and for a wonder the man submitted. Severus nibbled at his lower lip, and it carried the faintest hint of pain, but Harry didn’t mind. Didn’t mind at all, because it anchored him even more firmly into the feelings.

A voice broke into their stolen moment, calling worriedly, “Harry? Harry, where are you? It’s time, the Minister’s here. Harry!” It sounded closer with every repetition of his name. They parted hurriedly, tugging at disarrayed robes, and combing fingers through mussed hair, attempting to return themselves to some semblance of respectability.

“I’m coming!” Harry called. He reached out to tuck an escaped lock of hair back behind Severus’ ear, letting his hand linger against his cheek for a moment, and smiled softly at him. “Am I presentable?”

Severus nodded once, leaning into the touch slightly, his eyes solemn and hooded. Harry dropped his hand and went to obey Hermione’s summons, Severus beside him once more, their robes brushing gently as they walked. The rain fell, gentle and constant, cool against faces heated by passion and embarrassment at almost being caught kissing in public.

***

The focal point of the garden was a large, square lawn, with a massive polished black granite monolith at its centre, its top tapering to a point like an obelisk. The immense slab of stone stood on a slightly raised platform and was carved all over with names from the two wars against Voldemort. Four groups each had their own side - those who had died fighting for the Light inlaid in gold, those who had fought and survived inlaid in bronze, the Muggles who had been killed inlaid in silver. Even those who had fought for Voldemort, and died for it had a place, had been granted the right to be remembered, though their names were shallowly carved, and not inlaid at all. Their inclusion had caused a good bit of controversy when the design had been first announced a few days after the battle. However, families like the Malfoys still had enough political clout to carry the idea through even with the family head and the heir dead, and the matter had been quickly settled.

As Harry hurried into the square, he paused a moment at the sight of the memorial, as he always did. The sheer number of names always struck him, especially as the names of the living faced away from the place he had entered. There were too many plain and gold-inlaid names he recognised – Fred, Sirius, Draco, more than he ever wanted to remember - and three silver ones – Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley. They had died for refusing to give him to Voldemort. He had escaped that night, but they had not, and for that he had almost managed to forgive them for seventeen years of being made to feel like human scum.

He took a deep breath. It was their house he would be going to, today. After they’d died he’d become the owner, and he’d never been able to decide what to do with it. He hadn’t ever planned to live there again – too many bad memories, he’d easily been able to afford to buy a house of his own, and naturally once he’d started teaching, Hogwarts became his home again - but selling it hadn’t seemed right either. And now it was a godsend, a place to get his bearings without even needing to look around. He’d asked Ron and Hermione to come with him, though. He couldn’t bear the thought of living there alone. They’d gone there a few days ago, still having free use of their wands, and transformed the place. It was barely recognisable now, and Harry liked it much better that way.

Severus stopped with Harry, let his hand come up and rest comfortingly on his shoulder. He allowed him to stand there for a minute before he tightened his grip, subtly reminding him that all of the other people in the square were waiting for him. When Harry shook himself slightly and raised his head, Severus reluctantly lowered his hand again.

It had been drizzling for quite a while by now, long enough that the ground was slightly squelchy under their boots. It wasn’t helped by the close to a hundred people standing around, churning the grass and soil into sticky mud. It had been raining long enough that Harry could feel rivulets of water starting to trickle down his neck, making him want to twist and rub them away. Most of the other people had cast charms to keep themselves dry, apart from those who would be going with him, and a few other hardy souls who chose instead to ignore it – and Severus. Harry was fairly sure he wasn’t supposed to have noticed that the man was using his wand as little as Harry himself these days. He didn’t mention it, but he appreciated the gesture.

Harry marched determinedly through the crowd to the front, people hurriedly making way for him as they realised just who was trying to get past them, and why. Severus followed in his wake, slipping through until he came to stand in the second row, once again next to Dumbledore. The Headmaster nodded at him, and they watched Harry walk up to Minister Fudge, who was standing just in front of the platform, in the faint shadow the memorial cast in the scant sunlight the heavy clouds allowed through.

Harry and the Minister exchanged a few quiet words, then turned to face their audience. The crowd fell silent almost instantaneously, and Fudge made an uncharacteristically short speech. That is, he only babbled for about fifteen minutes about ‘the great loss to all of us’, about how he would miss the people who had chosen to leave, and hoped they would return soon. Severus tuned out his hypocrisy, instead watching Harry’s face, and the faces of the people around him, the ones who would be accompanying him.

There was a stray part of Severus that for a second considered changing his decision, but he knew the Muggle world would not be a wise choice. Within a month he would be going mad with frustration and blaming everyone but himself. Besides, he had promised Dumbledore his services as long as they were needed, and he had made quite enough bad choices for one lifetime. He sighed almost imperceptibly, and returned to watching Harry, who seemed surprisingly calm. Only an experienced observer would know that the way he was clasping his hands tightly behind his back meant that he was trying desperately not to fidget nervously or reach for his wand, that the tiny crease between his eyebrows meant he was controlling his expression fiercely.

Already the reporters were again scribbling away furiously, taking down every nuance of every expression that flitted across the faces of the two main players in today’s little drama – and in some cases, inventing expressions, and even words, if they didn’t think it was quite gripping enough just yet. Finally, Fudge stopped speaking, and the anticipation in the air became almost palpable in the sudden silence.

Two of Fudge’s trusted Aurors began moving through the people who were going to leave, collecting their wands and then binding their magic with a surprisingly quick, simple spell. Everyone reacted differently to it, some with carefully stoic expressions plastered onto their faces, expressions that could not completely hide the flash of pain, others unable to restrain their soft gasps as their magic was sealed away, possibly forever. As they became, to all intents and purposes, Squibs. More than a few stared longingly after their wands, gripped in careless bundles by the collectors as they moved rapidly from one person to the next. Ginny wrapped her arms around herself, shivering from more than just the cold, and Charlie, shaking a little himself, took her hand, bent to whisper something in her ear. The scene was repeated over and over again, as the leavers attempted to comfort each other. None of them had been nearly as prepared for this as they had thought.

As the last binding spell was cast, Fudge turned back towards Harry. “Professor Potter, your wand, please.”

Harry stared back at him, no longer making an effort to hide his loathing. It was just like Fudge to use the title that was no longer his by right, to try to rub his face in just what he’d chosen to give up because of Fudge’s unfounded fears. Slowly, his right hand slipped into the pocket of his robe, came out holding his wand tightly, with obvious care.

He felt an unexpected wave of possessiveness as he grasped his wand. Suddenly he found himself noticing the way the grip fit his fingers perfectly, the familiar weight of it, the faint tingle running up his arm, through his blood, the tickle somewhere in his brain that said merely ‘I am here’. The promise of magic at his fingertips, if he could control it. All the things he’d forgotten in sheer familiarity, taken for granted for far too long.

He nearly changed his mind at that last possible moment, as he allowed himself to feel the promise of power he was giving up, as he looked over the magically blooming garden, as he saw the faces of Severus and Dumbledore, and realised all over again that he was giving up his first and best home. He didn’t have to do this. Fudge had left him other options, through Dumbledore’s suggestion. He could go about his life as if nothing had changed – after all, like Severus, he rarely left Hogwarts, and it didn’t really matter all that much to him what people thought.

Or he could even change Fudge’s mind for him. After all, everyone accepted that he was the most powerful wizard in the world, and what was one more Imperio next to the Avada Kedavras – and Crucios, and Imperios - he was being ‘punished’ for?

He flicked his wand sharply, once, as Fudge’s eyes widened in fear, and he half-turned towards his Aurors. Harry muttered a short phrase under his breath, and dropped his arm, wand still held in a grip so tight his knuckles were starting to turn white.

He thought that maybe it was for the best that he go, after all, if he was having impulses like that.

Fudge turned back, relaxed as he saw Harry’s wand innocuously at his side once more. “Your wand,” he repeated, false bravado filling his voice. It was clear he didn’t know quite what he’d do if Harry refused.

Harry smiled dangerously. “You want it? Then take it.” He forced his fingers to loosen, told himself he was being melodramatic as he found himself thinking it felt like tearing his arm off. It was only a wand, a piece of wood, a focus, a tool. He could live without it – he had for the first eleven years of his life. The first miserable eleven years of his life. The thought was no help at all as his eyes followed the bit of wood, falling almost in slow motion into the mud beside his right foot like a discarded, unwanted toy. Only he wanted it back, desperately, far more than he had words to express.

He looked back up at Fudge, and the minister recoiled involuntarily. His two goons were hovering behind him, one on each side. One moved as if to pick up Harry’s wand, but Fudge quickly flicked a negating hand at him. Then he took a slow, reluctant step towards Harry, producing his own wand, clutching it tightly. Putting one hand hesitatingly on Harry’s left shoulder, wary of touching him, he pointed his wand at Harry’s forehead, and slowly, carefully spoke the words of a binding spell – one older and far more powerful than that the Aurors had used on the others.

Harry had thought letting his wand go was hard, and that had only been a psychological pain. This was hideously real, as an integral part of him – his life, for the last fourteen years – was locked away piece by piece, in a horrifyingly meticulous, thorough manner. He scrabbled wildly to hold on to it, to even a tiny bit, to the barest spark. He didn’t need to be the most powerful wizard, if he could just have a tiny bit left. Fudge’s magic chased it all down mercilessly, wrenching it out of his desperate, protective grasp. He forced his expression to stay as impassive as he could make it, knowing that every eye was on him, but inside he was screaming.

Mine, don’t touch. Don’t take it. Can’t take it. It’s mine. No. NO. Not forever, not for always. Don’t take it. Give it back. Give it back, NOW. Foreverforeverforever. Supposed to be always. MINE.

The last door slammed shut, the last set of chains wrapped around his magic, sealing it away beyond even his ability to feel it. Something deep inside him began to weep in despair, and he clung desperately to his outward composure, hanging on to the cliff edge by his fingernails. He was a Squib, now, like… like Filch. This would take far more than a simple swish and flick to undo, even if he changed his mind at that very moment.

Fudge had a smugly satisfied expression on his face. Harry wanted to hex it off him. Only he couldn’t do that any more. He’d settle for beating it off, though, he decided. It might even be quite satisfying. He took an involuntary step towards the Minister before he caught himself, and the other man stepped back hurriedly once more, the satisfaction slipping slightly.

Harry shook himself, grabbing control of himself again. He’d made his choices, and there were people only a few feet away who were feeling exactly the same as he was. People he’d promised, if only by implication, to help. It couldn’t hurt this much for long. He’d forget about it soon, he assured himself, and the place his magic had been would just become another old scar that only twinged occasionally.

He knew he was lying to himself. 

“The portkeys will activate at seven. I suggest you remain in the garden until then,” Fudge announced to those waiting to leave. He nodded sharply, and walked away, trailed by his pet Aurors. One picked up Harry’s wand before he left, gave him an almost sympathetic glance. Harry thought he recognised him, probably from one of the battles. He’d probably ordered the man around at some point. Maybe one of them had saved the other’s life. There’d been more life debts made and redeemed in the war than anyone could keep track of. Harry’s eyes followed the Auror as he was almost overwhelmed by the urge to run after him, grab his wand back even though he knew it would really be only a piece of wood without his magic.

He forced himself to look away, to turn back to the waiting spectators. He took one cautious step, another. Each one required an absurd amount of effort and energy. He felt heavy, lethargic, and yet so hollow inside that he thought if the wind picked up even a little, it might just blow him away. Severus was looking at him, and Harry could read the sympathy, and worry, in his expression, though it would have been far from obvious to anyone else. He wondered distantly, if he looked that bad, if he had lost so much control over his expression, for Severus to be so concerned.

The others were moving too, most of them looking as dazed, as utterly different, as he felt. They made for their families, preparing to spend their last few hours in the wizarding world. Most of them would be able to have visits – Apparation was a wonderful thing – but they all knew it wasn’t the same.

Severus met Harry halfway. He was worried enough by the shell-shocked look on his face, his almost ghostly paleness and drawn expression, that he put one arm around his waist to support him, regardless of the crowd around them. And regardless of the reporters’ sharp eyes and their quills, which picked up speed again at his gesture. “Harry?” he asked anxiously. He wanted to ask if he was all right, but knew the answer was certainly not. Instead, he hoped that Harry would understand what he meant.

“I’ll… I’ll be fine,” Harry said slowly, enunciating each word carefully. He knew that without the effort even the simple phrase would be slurred, unintelligible. He wanted to resist Severus’ hold, show that he was all right, but couldn’t summon up the energy.

Severus didn’t argue with him over the blatant lie. Instead, he tightened his hold, pulling Harry a little closer. He muttered under his breath about foolish Gryffindors and said, “Come on, Harry.”

“Where are we going?” Harry gave in, letting the other man guide him away. His head was starting to throb persistently, and he felt vaguely nauseous. On second thought, maybe ‘where’ wasn’t important – he’d much rather throw up in private rather than in front of all these people, if it was absolutely necessary for him to do it.

“Back to where we were before,” Severus said, rubbing his hand gently against Harry’s side in the hopes that it would help somehow. The young man looked almost as bad as he had the day Fred Weasley had died. Then, Fred had been Harry’s lover, and he and Severus had just been working their way into being close friends. That time, Harry had been perilously close to a breakdown. It had taken him almost a year to recover fully, even with all the help Severus could offer. Now they had a bare four hours left. At least Harry would not be alone – Hermione Weasley was a very capable woman, and a caring one, and he hoped she would be able to help him. He didn’t quite trust anyone with his Harry’s welfare, though. Especially not now.

Severus managed finally to coax Harry into the secluded corner they’d been in before, although it took a horrendously long time. As soon as they got out of sight of most of the people, Harry allowed himself to give in to the temptation to lean heavily against the other wizard. He was utterly exhausted, as drained as if someone had sucked all the energy out of him. Whatever charm Fudge had used, he wasn’t sure that his magic wasn’t the only thing it had sapped away. He shivered, feeling suddenly chilled. He closed his eyes and snuggled even closer to Severus, seeking his warmth. The other man looked down at him worriedly, and wrapped his arm around him even more tightly, to which Harry had no objection to for the moment.

Severus looked around, searching for somewhere to sit. Only the ground presented itself, however, and it was fairly well soaked. He only hesitated a moment before he fumbled out his wand with his free hand – practicality had to take precedence, and he had to at least try to get Harry comfortable. It wasn’t cold enough for him to be shivering, especially considering that he was wearing winter robes. A quick spell, slightly clumsy due to his being encumbered by Harry’s weight, dried a spot of ground, another created a water-repelling charm enclosing the space, big enough for two.

He urged Harry to sit down, easing him into a comfortable position, and then moved away for a moment so he could cast a charm to dry them both off. “Severus?” Harry murmured. His voice was even weaker than it had been, and Severus’ forehead creased further with worry.

“I’m right here, Harry,” he replied, settling behind Harry and drawing the younger man back against him.

“Oh. Good.” Harry’s head rolled back onto Severus’ shoulder, and he looked up at him, eyes slightly unfocused. “I feel sick. And sleepy.” He yawned to demonstrate his tiredness. “And it hurts. My head hurts. And inside.”

“Are you going to be sick?” Severus asked, stroking Harry’s hair gently, frowning.

Harry shook his head and yawned again. “Don’t think so,” he muttered against Severus’ neck. The man smelt nice, he thought distantly, if a little of odd Potions ingredients. Like he always did. It was good to know that some things were still the same. “Just feel… strange.”

“Go to sleep for a bit then,” Severus urged. He couldn’t think of anything else that could help.

“Have to… go. Away.”

“Not just yet, my Harry. Sleep for a little while, I’ll wake you in an hour or so.” The hand not occupied with petting Harry’s hair went around his waist, pulling him closer. 

“All right,” Harry accepted easily for once, manoeuvring himself laboriously into a more comfortable position. He closed his eyes once he was satisfied, and was asleep within seconds. Severus knew he was going to be spectacularly uncomfortable in a matter of minutes, but he could put up with it for a while. When he was sure Harry was deeply enough asleep not to be troubled by any movement, he transfigured a handful of grass into a cushion to support his back a little and settled down to wait as well as he could, one hand still running absently through Harry’s hair.

Severus wondered if Fudge had known how badly Harry would react to the binding. He concluded that he probably hadn’t – the man was a coward, not a sadist - but still found himself contemplating hunting him down and making him feel the same thing.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice Hermione peer in about ten minutes later. Outside their little bubble of dryness, the rain continued to fall gently, persistently, and the noise in the rest of the garden diminished gradually as each little group found their own corners to say their goodbyes.

***

Severus almost woke Harry after the first hour, but the younger man was sleeping so peacefully that he didn’t have the heart to do it just yet. A little colour was starting to return to the one cheek Severus could see, and he hoped that meant the nap was doing some good. He stretched his legs as best he could around Harry, shifted his grip a little, and settled down again to wait just a little while longer.

After another three-quarters of an hour, however, he was beginning to suffer quite severely from pins and needles, and the small movements that were all he could make weren’t helping any more. Besides, he could feel the time slipping inexorably away and he wanted some time with Harry before they parted for good. So he brought one hand to the younger man’s shoulder and shook him slightly. The war had made them both light sleepers – more than a little inconvenient, considering both their tendencies towards nightmares and the consequent restless sleep – and the gentle touch was more than enough to urge Harry towards wakefulness despite his exhaustion.

Severus let go as Harry’s eyes blinked open and he yawned, sitting up slightly and stretching as best he could considering the other man’s proximity. “Severus,” he said through the yawn. “What’s the time?”

“About five,” Severus said, trying to move his currently uncooperative legs. Harry did look much better now, and Severus allowed himself to relax slightly. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Mm. Better,” Harry replied. “Not so out of it.”

“Good,” Severus said, smiling slightly as Harry tried to lean back against him once more. “Wait a moment, Harry. I need to move,” he said hastily. He finally managed to make himself stand up, and took a cautious step, then another, despite the painful tingle.

“Oh. Sorry. Shouldn’t have let me sleep so long.” Harry couldn’t seem to decide whether to be guilty or amused by Severus’ somewhat exaggerated winces as he walked a few steps up and down in front of where Harry sat. “Sorry,” he said again, smiling apologetically.

“It’s fine.” The older man sat down next to Harry again once he had managed to walk off the worst of the discomfort. “It seems to have done you some good at least.”

“Thank you,” Harry said sincerely, looking up into Severus’ eyes, shifting closer as subtly as he could.

“It was the least I could do. And there’s no need to sneak,” Severus smiled again, more openly, as he slid his arm around Harry’s waist once more, drawing him against his side.

Harry smiled back, and blushed slightly at being caught. He did feel much better for the nap. It still felt like there was a gaping hole inside him, and he felt much colder than he should have. On the other hand, his headache had eased a little, he didn’t feel sick any longer, and he thought he might actually be able to walk around on his own without falling on his face in the mud. All in all, a decided improvement. Now that he was a bit more with it, Severus’ presence was definitely comforting too, although…

He’d said it was five o’clock. That meant that they only had two hours left. Unconsciously, he tried to get even closer.

Severus frowned. “Harry? What’s wrong?” He peered at the younger man, but he couldn’t see his face clearly from this angle.

“It’s nothing,” Harry said automatically before correcting himself. “Well, something, but nothing that we can do anything about.” He stared down unseeingly at the grass he sat on.

“Oh. That.” Severus brushed a kiss to the top of Harry’s head soothingly, half-wishing that he could be the one being comforted. It wasn’t easy choosing to trust – to love – someone you had cordially despised for years, and then having them choose to leave you, even if their decision was understandable, and you had a part to play in the ‘leaving’. Right now, though, Harry needed it much more. He sighed quietly. 

Harry glanced up at Severus as he caught the barely-audible sound, and kicked himself mentally for being so caught up in his own problems that he’d momentarily forgotten that this would be almost as hard for the other man. He wriggled around so he could kneel astride his stretched-out legs. “I’m sorry,” he half-whispered before he caught Severus’ face in his hands and dipped his head to brush his lips over the older man’s.

“Don’t be,” Severus replied when he pulled away again. “You’re doing what you have to do, and I’m doing the same.”

Harry nodded, hearing the implications of that sentence – and if you’re sorry for it, then I ought to be as well, and that would make it even harder – and kissed Severus again, looping his arms around his neck. The other man’s mouth opened willingly, and his hands came to rest around Harry’s waist, warm grasp igniting heat in the pit of his belly. He let himself move forwards so he was practically sitting in Severus’ lap, pressed together for almost the whole length of their bodies.

Passion flared up in both of them, obvious in their bodies’ reaction, and only the knowledge that they were essentially in public, with a hundred people not so far away, kept them from following it to the obvious conclusion. Harry was frankly surprised that Severus responded so easily considering the situation, but perhaps the knowledge of just how little time they have left was getting to him too. For a moment Severus was sorely tempted to Apparate them both to their house. They could make it back here in plenty of time for the Portkeys. He shoved the temptation away ruthlessly, knowing that he would be a fool to believe that. Harry would not want to leave again afterwards, and Severus would not let him even if he did want it, not once he had him safe again.

After a few minutes, he eased an unresisting Harry slightly away from him, and transfigured the cushion into a garden bench for them, careful to keep it within the confines of the water-repelling charm. They sat there for some time, speaking occasionally about unimportant things, but mostly just content to sit close together, sides pressed against each other, Severus’ arm around Harry’s shoulders, and savour the moments that they could feel slipping away all too rapidly.

Eventually, the noise level from the others in the garden began to rise again, and Severus fumbled his watch out of a pocket with his free hand. He flicked it open and stared at the face blankly for a moment before registering what it read. They had said nothing for a while, but Harry had taken a death-grip on a handful of Severus’ robes, and Severus’ hand on his shoulder was as desperate a gesture for the older man.

“Time?” asked Harry quietly before he burrowed his head against Severus’ neck in a vain attempt to hide.

“Six thirty,” the reply came. “We have to get back soon.” 

Harry nodded, taking a deep breath. “Give me a minute?” he asked.

“Gladly.” Severus tightened his hand. It was still raining, although now it was only the occasional drip from the sky.

“I love you,” Harry said for the second time that day, for ever, barely lifting his head away from the other man’s neck enough to speak. “I don’t want to go. I want my magic back.”

Severus almost replied ‘Then stay’, but caught the response as it hovered on the tip of his tongue. He knew that it would turn out badly in the end for both of them, as much as it would be easier now. “I love you too,” he muttered instead, and then, more clearly, “You know I certainly don’t want you to go either, but you’ll end up hating both of us – the whole world – if you don’t. Don’t give up hope though, my Harry. Albus and I – and a lot of other people – shall be doing all we can.”

Harry’s wistful smile was invisible to Severus, but he could feel it against his skin. “I’m a Gryffindor. Hope is what we do,” Harry said, lifting his head finally and smiling, looking into Severus’ eyes and, he hoped, convincing him of a confidence he didn’t really feel.

Severus nodded, smiled back slightly. “Unfounded optimism, more like,” he said, with almost the proper level of disdain. “But at the moment that is all to the good. And now, we really should go,” he said, dispelling the water-repelling charm.

“Yes.” Harry stood, and pulled the other man to his feet too. He half-expected Severus to try to drop his hand once he was up, and tightened his grip in preparation – he wasn’t going to give up this last contact until he had to – but Severus surprised him again, returning the bench to its original grassy state without comment.

They were almost out into the main area of the garden again when Severus bent slightly towards Harry. “I know what you did,” he said, almost directly into the other man’s ear.

“What?” Harry blinked in bemusement at the remark, and Severus smirked down at him, almost entirely without the melancholy edge that had flavoured all of their smiles today.

“Forgotten already? No matter, you’ll remember soon enough.” 

Harry was almost so caught up by trying to remember what he’d done that he forgot to feel sad.

They made their way to the front of the crowd together, where nine Portkeys were laid out on a table, each labelled with the names of the people to take them. Harry shook Dumbledore’s hand, and the old man surprised him by hugging him, astonishingly tightly. “Good luck, my boy,” he said as he released Harry again. He had to say goodbye to all the Weasleys too. Molly urged him to look after himself, as well as everyone else. From what he overheard, she said much the same to the others. George shook his hand firmly, and Harry hugged him back. They’d become very close after Fred’s death, in some ways even closer than Harry and Ron.

Severus just stood very close to him. He brushed a stray lock of hair out of Harry’s eyes and then touched his hand gently, staring down at him. Harry gave him the clearest smile he could muster, and Severus nodded. “Goodbye, my Harry,” he said.

“Bye.”

Harry walked to his Portkey, a battered-looking book. ‘101 all-purpose Potions ingredients’, it said, and he had to smile. Ron and Hermione joined him a moment later, and for a second he felt a surge of something like envy – at least they were together in this. Then they smiled bravely at him, and he smiled back before looking back up at the waiting people, hanging on to the few things he had left to take with him.

His eyes locked with Severus’, and as the Portkey activated, he thought he saw the man’s wand flick, and his lips move in a familiar pattern. Then he felt the familiar tug, and he was rushed away.

Severus slipped his wand back into its pocket, and pulled out a scrap of parchment, unable to quite believe that Harry had forgotten about it. It had seemed a rather premeditated gesture.

Severus,   
I love you, take care of yourself.   
(Yes, I know, I’m a sentimental idiot.)   
Harry

He couldn’t help the hint of a smile as he tucked the note into his pocket again, though it faded fast. When he returned to his rooms – their rooms – they felt horribly empty to him without Harry’s possessions and Harry’s presence. That night, he slept restlessly, tossing and turning in a bed that felt suddenly far too large and cold.

***

Harry, Ron and Hermione appeared in a tumbled heap on the living room floor, their fall thankfully cushioned by the thick carpet they’d had put in. None of them had gotten any better at travelling by Portkey, especially as they’d had little call to use one after they’d obtained their Apparation licences. Harry swallowed a bitter laugh as he realised that there wasn’t any need to worry about it any more - he probably wouldn’t be using either mode of transport again for a very long time. If ever.

The three of them scrambled to their feet, dusting themselves off and straightening their clothes perhaps a little more assiduously than was strictly necessary. “Well. Is everyone all right?” Hermione asked briskly, tugging at the hem of her blouse. Harry and Ron nodded as firmly as they could manage. “In that case, let’s go get settled in,” she said, the quiver in her voice barely noticeable. Neither of the other two commented on it, perhaps because they were afraid theirs might do the same.

They each grabbed their bags, Ron and Hermione following Harry up the stairs. Harry slipped into Dudley’s old room, now claimed as his, while the other two would be using the master bedroom. Harry hadn’t quite been able to bear the thought of using his old room again, despite the changes they’d made to the house. He still imagined he could see the places where the bars had been, although they had long been plastered over. They were using it as a storeroom now. Once or twice when he’d walked in to deposit something, he’d realised he was almost expecting to see a small figure huddled under the covers of the spare bed, a feeble light glowing.

With the door of his room carefully closed behind him, he slipped off his robes, leaving him in Muggle clothes. He began folding the robes automatically as he eyed the simple single bed that was now his, and wondered how on earth he was going to be able to sleep in it, alone. Halfway through folding, he remembered that he hadn’t checked the pockets yet. After all, they would be going into a suitcase in the attic, and he probably wouldn’t be seeing them again. He went through the pockets one by one, pulling out assorted bits and pieces that he’d almost forgotten were there. His heart caught slightly as he reached into the one that should have held his wand, and then he frowned at the feeling of a tightly-folded piece of parchment in its place. He extracted the sheet, and unfolded it, smoothing out the creases as he read.

Harry,  
I agree, you are a sentimental fool. However, I feel it’s necessary to say I love you too. Try not to be as careless as usual when I’m not there to look after you.   
Severus

Harry gave a faintly pained smile, tucked the note away safely in a drawer, and then finished folding up his robe and unpacking the odds and ends in his two small bags. He debated for a moment over the one photograph of himself and Severus, taken by Colin with a Muggle camera two months before he had died. Then he shook his head and put it away in the drawer with the note, covering them both over with assorted sheets of paper and other things he wouldn’t need for some time.

Sighing slightly, he locked up the trunk of things to be put in the attic, all the things related only to the wizarding world, and tried not to look too closely at any of them. When he was done, he stepped out into the corridor to see if Ron and Hermione needed a hand with anything. As he approached their door, though, he heard the unmistakable sound of crying, could make out Ron’s voice attempting to soothe Hermione. He knew there was nothing he could do, and decided to leave her in the hands of her husband. Instead, he retreated hurriedly back to his room, and tried as hard as he could to ignore the hollow place where his magic had been. He suspected that none of them would be sleeping particularly well that night.

***

Six years later

Severus swept imposingly through the corridors of Hogwarts as was his wont. As the school year had started earlier this week, this meant that occasional unwary first-years had points taken – unless, of course, they were Slytherin - for ‘cluttering the public corridors’ almost before they knew the professor was there. As he strode rapidly towards the Headmaster’s office, Severus muttered irritably to himself.

At the look on his face, the gargoyle got out of his way almost before he spoke the password, and soon Severus was being told to take a seat and offered sweets. He refused, and for once Dumbledore didn’t make small talk, understanding that he was in no mood for it.

“I’m sorry, Severus,” he said instead. “Did I catch you at a bad time?” 

“I think I may almost have cracked it. If I’d had another half an hour to complete the current experiment… well, I shall have to start again now at any rate.” He tried not to sound like he was whining. He’d been working on that formula for the last six months, and starting again meant an extra three weeks work. Of course the Headmaster had had to interrupt at absolutely the most delicate moment. Well, what was done was done, but Severus hoped this was important enough to justify the bother.

“Ah,” Dumbledore said. “My apologies again, in that case. Perhaps it is time for you to take a break. The project is not terribly urgent, after all, and you’ve been spending a great deal of time in your workroom. Much more than you did when Ha…” Severus glared at him, and the Headmaster stopped mid-sentence. He had tried to broach the topic several times, but had got nowhere. Severus just ignored him, glaring until even Dumbledore had to give up. Severus only had two real goals any more – creating counters and antidotes for the Dark Potions Voldemort had developed in the last years of the war, and keeping his promise to Harry to somehow reverse Fudge’s law. In the latter at least, he had a considerable number of allies, but also opponents. Fudge had done his work well, managing to convince a good proportion of the general population that wizards who had used Unforgivables before could not be trusted again. Severus had not left Hogwarts in the last three years. The last time had been to collect a particular rare ingredient for a potion, and Dumbledore had, of necessity, accompanied him.

Dumbledore had kept in touch with all of his exiled former charges, writing to them by owl and using Muggle post – and Andreas Zabini’s contacts – to get their replies. As far as he knew, however, Severus and Harry had not written to each other, and that worried him more than a little. Especially considering what he now had to ask.

“I assume you did call me here for a reason?” Severus interrupted Dumbledore’s thoughts, his tone impatient.

“Yes. I have a request, in fact.” Dumbledore picked a sweet from the dish on the desk and unwrapped it carefully.

Severus was sorely tempted to reply ‘Of course you do’, but resisted. “And that would be?”

“I received this letter about half an hour ago.” Dumbledore picked a square of thin parchment from a pile on his desk and handed it to the other man. Then he popped the sweet into his mouth, sucking on it as he waited for Severus’ response. 

Sir   
Dark activity indeed on the rise. Rumours of disappearances confirmed – Muggles attribute to dangers of mountainous area, however magic shows evidence of bloodstains in at least two ‘last seen’ areas. Number of disappearances, and number of reports of ‘strange doings’, partly substantiated, suggest more than one isolated practitioner. Will continue to investigate, however assistance would be appreciated.

Severus’ eyes flicked rapidly over the words, a sinking feeling developing in the pit of his belly as he registered the meaning. It wasn’t supposed to be starting again yet. Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald decades before the first rise of Voldemort. He had thought it would be the same way again – he was nowhere near naïve enough to believe that Voldemort would be the last Dark Lord. But they had only had a bare few years of peace, and already it seemed it was beginning all over again.

He flicked a glance up at the Headmaster, who was still placidly sucking. “What do you need me to do?” he asked, sighing inwardly. He doubted he would be sent off to wherever it was to help investigate the Dark activity, but the expression on Dumbledore’s face told him that he probably wasn’t going to like whatever he had to do. He handed the report back to Dumbledore. The old wizard shuffled it back into place in the pile.

The Headmaster swallowed the last of his sweet and said “I need you to go and tell Harry.”

“You… why?” Torn between relief at the prospect of an excuse to see Harry, and dismay at having to see him again, Severus said the first thing that came into his mind. The planned ‘clean break’ hadn’t been very clean at all despite their lack of communication, what with everyone insisting that they had to talk to him about Harry. And he still occasionally found things, in usually ignored corners, that had belonged to the other man. And now this.

“He has to be told, because if the next Dark Lord is rising, we will need everyone we can get. The people Harry took with him were among our best, you know that, and Harry will be able to get in touch with them all. I don’t want them back yet, but I want them to be informed. This might all turn out for the best, in truth – all of them are well integrated into Muggle life all over the country, and that is where the Dark wizards always strike first. At any rate, we may need them back at very short notice, and it is best they be informed.”

“That’s all very well, Albus, but why me?” Severus frowned at Dumbledore, knowing that there had to be ulterior motives. The old wizard was an expert at manipulation, and never did anything without more than one purpose in mind. 

“Who better? I cannot leave the school simply to deliver a message, and you are perhaps the only other person left here who Harry will listen to. Besides, I will need the two of you working together again if it becomes necessary to fight again, and that means you have to be talking to each other. I would like you to go next weekend. If you leave on Friday you’ll have plenty of time, and can be back by Sunday evening.”

Part of Severus wanted to argue, to say that it would be too painful to ask him to see Harry and then leave again. Another part thought that any conversation at all with him had to be better than nothing. And another part reminded him that he had promised himself not to refuse anything Dumbledore asked – within reason, of course.

“You can arrange a Portkey to his current residence for me?”

“Naturally. He’s still living with Ron and Hermione, but they are apparently now living in London. It was, I understand, a career decision.” Severus fought down the urge to tell Dumbledore what he already knew very well – that Harry’s career was teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, and the other two were Aurors. Would probably always be Aurors, no matter what jobs they took in the Muggle world.

“Is there anything else I need to know about his situation?” he asked instead. He wasn’t trying to find out more about Harry after six years of self-imposed darkness, he told himself, just doing the sensible thing and not going into a situation unprepared. Thankfully, Dumbledore seemed happy to humour him, and not challenge his motivations.

“As I understand it, Harry accepted a job in the management side of one of Andreas’ businesses, and he’s managed to progress quite well. I understand he works quite closely with Blaise. Ron is in advertising, he tells me, and Hermione is working for a newspaper. Writing features, I believe.” Severus tried to conceal his impatience at being told about Harry’s friends. He had grown to like them well enough over the years, if not become close, but it was Harry he really wanted to hear about.

“You should find all three of them at home if you go on Friday. They should be fairly up to date with the news from here, as I understand the Weasleys have been keeping in touch with them on a regular basis. And of course they get some information through Blaise as well. I don’t believe that there is anything else in particular that you will need to know for this trip, but I will naturally let you know if anything comes up.”

“Will they be expecting me?” Severus asked.

“I’m sure none of them will mind seeing you, and I would rather Harry heard everything in person,” Dumbledore replied. Severus raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment.

“All right. I will be ready by Friday,” he said, already thinking about the several ways this could all turn out horribly. 

Dumbledore nodded. “I’ll have the Portkey delivered to your rooms, with details of time and where it will take you. I believe that’s everything, and I think you have a detention to take in an hour?”

“I do. Goodnight, Albus,” he said, rising and straightening his robes, settling himself into the appropriate demeanour, preparing himself to be seen by students and colleagues once more.

“Goodnight Severus.”

Severus nodded at Dumbledore and left, thinking hard about the trip he’d be making in a mere three days.

***

On Friday evening, Severus paced in front of his fireplace as he waited for the right time. The Portkey had been delivered earlier that day by a house-elf, along with a note saying that it would activate at precisely five o’clock. It would activate again on Sunday to return him.

Severus’ last class had finished at three. He’d been ready by four, dressed in Muggle clothes, a pack with a few essentials waiting by the Portkey. Then he’d gone up to see the Headmaster, handed over his wand and received wishes of luck and greetings to take to the three Gryffindors. He’d been back in his rooms by twenty minutes past. He’d tried to read something, but gave up when he realised he’d been looking at the same page for ten minutes. Pacing seemed a much more satisfying option, after that.

At five to five, he strode over to his desk. He slung his pack on his back and picked up the Portkey. This one consisted of two keys on a ring, and he fiddled absently with it as he resumed pacing. As the clock on the mantelpiece began to chime five, the Portkey activated. A rather bumpy ride later, Severus found himself more or less on his feet between a bush and a wall. He extracted himself from the narrow space with some difficulty and looked around. Luckily the area seemed deserted for a moment, and no one had observed his arrival, or his struggle with the bush.

He straightened his clothing and adjusted his pack before walking over to the road sign he’d spotted a few metres away. It read ‘Langton Crescent’, and Severus nodded to himself. He was in the right place, at least. It was a matter of minutes to locate number ten. The area was pleasant, if quiet, and the house itself was a medium-sized detached one, in very good repair. The front garden was well looked after too, a silver car parked in the drive. All in all it was quite a respectable dwelling, by middle-class Muggle standards.

Severus realised he was examining the house to avoid approaching it, and made himself walk up the drive. He felt as if he was being watched, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He wanted to reach for his wand.

He climbed the three steps leading to the front door and gingerly pressed the doorbell, half-expecting it to do something like bite him. After a few moments, the door swung open.

Hermione stared up at Severus blankly for a moment, then blinked hard in disbelief. “Professor Snape!” she exclaimed after a minute of uncomfortable silence. “I… What… Er, come in.”

“Thank you, I will,” he replied. Hermione stepped aside, and Severus edged through the doorway, which seemed almost claustrophobically narrow in comparison to Hogwarts’ massive entrance.

Hermione led the way to the comfortably-furnished sitting room, ushered the man into a seat and settled into one herself. They exchanged awkward pleasantries, of the sort common between acquaintances who have not seen each other for years. Hermione plucked up her courage finally, and asked, “So, what brings you here?”

Severus almost breathed a sigh of relief before he caught himself. “I must speak to Harry,” he said. Noting the change in her expression, he added, “The Headmaster has an urgent message for him.”

“Oh,” she said. “He’s out right now – he’s gone for a walk in the park. He always does at this sort of time, but he’ll be back by six-thirty, if you want to wait. You could have a cup of tea, or something. Ron will be home soon, and I’m sure he’d like to talk to you as well.”

“Thank you, but it would be best if I deliver my message as soon as I can. If you can direct me to the park, I would be grateful.” The atmosphere was uncomfortable enough now. He didn’t want to exchange polite, stilted conversation with Hermione and her husband for any longer than absolutely necessary. She seemed to understand, because she didn’t urge hospitality on him, rather giving him a suggestion as to where he might find Harry and simple, concise directions. 

“Thank you,” he said again as he paused at the front door. “Hopefully I will return soon with Harry.”

She smiled at Severus, and he was surprised at how sincere that smile was. “That would be nice,” she said. “It’s good to see you, and I’d like to hear about how everyone’s getting on.”

Of course, he thought to himself. He should have realised that despite the Headmaster’s owls, the thought of speaking to someone who still belonged to that world would have been more than welcome. He nodded at her. “Certainly.”

He opened the door and walked down the stairs. He heard the door shut when he was halfway down the drive, but didn’t look around. Turning left out of the drive, he followed Hermione’s directions to the park, wondering if he would find Harry, and what he would say if he did.

***

The park, only five minutes walk away, was smaller than Severus had expected. A tall cast-iron fence, covered with peeling green paint surrounded it, and there was a double-leaved gate to allow entrance. Large trees, just starting to lose their leaves, ringed a grassy area which had a playground enclosed by a wire fence at its centre. The park was deserted, apart from a figure – too large to be a child - sitting on one of the swings, but not swinging. Hermione had said Harry might be there, and she had been right.

Harry liked to come here, especially at times like this when there was no-one else around. It had been raining on and off all day, but it didn’t bother him much. It was a good place to think, and while he liked living with Ron and Hermione – it was comforting to have them around, still, especially when the ache of missing his magic and his life flared up inside him – he needed some time to himself. He suspected they probably liked it too. He generally ended up sitting on one of the swings, prodding absently at the empty space where his magic had been, and wondering about what everyone was doing. About what he might have been doing, if things had been different. After six years, it still felt strange; he still missed everything intensely, although he was settled into his life here, even happy. Content, at least.

The wind was beginning to pick up, clouds gathering in the sky, but Severus noticed them only absently, eyeing the grey clouds warily, wondering vaguely if the rain would hold off long enough for him to speak to Harry. He walked towards the playground, and Harry, forcing himself not to speed up, or slow down. Torn between the two impulses, he kept firmly to a dignified pace, wishing once more for the familiar protection of his robes. It would have been very reassuring if he could have swept imposingly.

Harry’s back was to the entrance to the park, and the playground, and Severus managed to slip through the narrow gate without being noticed. He was almost directly behind the other man before a twig snapped under an unwary step, and Harry turned and caught sight of him.

They stared at each other for a moment, dumbstruck, Harry with utter surprise and Severus with the sudden understanding of what seeing Harry again, speaking to him, would really mean. Neither moved, but after they got over the initial shock their eyes roved over each other almost greedily, recording changes. After a while, Severus spoke. “Harry,” he managed to get out before he fell silent again. Harry’s eyes were still wide with the sheer unexpectedness of it all, and he looked in no condition to hear any sort of important information at that particular moment. Severus waited for him to give some reaction, some idea of how he was going to received. 

“Severus,” Harry said eventually. Whispered almost. It was more than half a question.

“Yes,” Severus replied simply. It was easy to understand Harry’s disbelief. The meeting seemed rather dreamlike, even to him, knowing exactly why he was there. To Harry, Severus’ appearance out of the blue could easily seem a particularly vivid daydream.

“You… what are you doing here?” Harry got up from the swing and walked round to stand a few feet in front of Severus, looking up at him, still disbelievingly. He wanted to lift a hand, touch the other man, see if he was real. He wanted to pinch himself, wondering if it was another dream. Severus was usually a touch more eloquent in his dreams, though. And his dreams had never included clouds looming grey overhead, threatening rain in the near future, or wind whipping his hair into his eyes, chilling his face. It had to be real. Harry’s cheeks reddened slightly, and he wished he could attribute it entirely to the sudden chill. He shivered, feeling anticipation and apprehension in near-equal measure. He knew the answer he wanted to hear, though he didn’t even begin to believe that he would hear it.

“I… I have a message for you. Information. From Albus.” Severus mentally kicked himself. He sounded like a stuttering idiot, spitting out half-sentences. He could hear a distinctly strangled note in his own voice. Perhaps it would be best if he just gave Harry the message and left. He could find somewhere else to stay until Sunday. It had been a completely foolish idea, to think that maybe Harry would be glad to see him. The younger man’s face had shown little expression at first, but he’d hoped that was just due to surprise. Now, though, Harry’s cheeks were more than a little flushed, and his face bore an expression that Severus remembered used to mean he was about to demonstrate that he was extremely angry about something. 

“A message from Albus,” Harry repeated, his tone rivalling the wind for chilliness. He dropped his head, telling himself he hadn’t really expected anything more personal. “I see.”

“Yes.” Severus frowned, faintly puzzled by Harry’s body language. From previous experience, he would have said that Harry was acting hurt, only he couldn’t think of anything that had happened or been said that might cause him to feel that way. “He wished me to warn you that it seems a new Dark Lord may be rising. He wants you to tell everyone else, and be prepared for any action that might be necessary. He feels that it may be necessary for you – all of you – to return without permission.”

Harry let him speak without interruptions, his eyes still fixed on the ground at his feet. Severus’ words sunk into a part of his brain that began to think about the implications, but he was more concerned with other things, more important at the moment.

A few drops of rain began to fall, growing heavier by the second. One fell with a heavy splat on the toe of his shoe, spawning smaller droplets. By the time Severus had finished speaking, the initial light shower had become a veritable downpour, the rain battering at the fading leaves on the trees edging the park. Harry still said nothing, trying to gather his thoughts, and Severus let him think. Soon they were both fairly thoroughly soaked, but neither made a move for the paltry shelter offered by the trees, much less to leave the park and try to get back to Harry’s house.

Harry broke the silence after a long pause, lifting a hand to brush sopping wet fringe out of his eyes and looking up at Severus again. “That’s the only reason why you’re here?”

“Well… yes.” It was true, he would not have even considered coming here if it hadn’t been for Dumbledore’s request. He would not have considered speaking to Harry, especially after so long, with still no hope of getting Fudge’s ridiculous law changed any time in the near future. And if he had had other hopes, it was easiest not to mention them. Not when he had to return in two days, and Harry would stay here until the situation got so serious that Dumbledore would once again be willing to openly defy the Ministry. It wasn’t as if Harry could really be thinking that they still had anything together. Dumbledore had dropped in a considerable number of references to Blaise Zabini, after all. Much easier all round not to say anything at all.

Harry peered up at him, eyes squinted slightly against the rain, and without them Severus found that couldn’t read the other man’s expression at all. Suddenly he relaxed, his mouth quirked slightly, and he looked much happier. “I see,” he said again, but this time it sounded much less bitter and resigned, and much more amused.

Severus frowned again. He thought that perhaps he had completely forgotten how to decipher Harry over the last six years of no communication. It was certainly possible, much more so than what he thought he’d seen during the last few minutes.

Harry took a step closer to Severus, the sodden wood chips covering the ground near the swings slipping slightly under his feet. Rain trickled down both their faces, down the backs of their necks, making them shiver in near-unison. Wet clothing clung to both bodies and the air smelled like it had in the garden before they had parted six years ago, save only for lacking the heady perfume of unseasonal flowers.

They stared at each other through the rain that sheeted even through the small space between them for a long, weighted moment, both utterly solemn again. Severus knew that expression on Harry’s face, knew that he was looking for something. He knew also that he should move, should leave. He had delivered his message, his commission was done, it was dangerous to stay here any longer, although he didn’t know which of Harry’s possible actions might be the most dangerous. Somehow he couldn’t manage to tear himself away from the heavy gaze of the other man’s eyes, locked on his. He couldn’t even make himself move, only look back and wonder if Harry’s actions meant what he would have thought they did, years ago.

Finally, Harry moved once more, still looking just as intently up at Severus, as if his look was an anchor, the only thing ensuring that there would be no leaving – just yet, at least. And indeed, perhaps it was. The space between them had shrunk to bare inches now. “Severus,” he said again, still wondering but no longer questioning, and then, “I missed you.”

Severus blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that, although perhaps he should have been. All he could think for a second was that perhaps he had been reading Harry correctly after all, and he didn’t know whether to be cautiously pleased, or almost frightened by what he had seen. He debated his responses briefly, but there was really only one thing he could say in all honesty. “I missed you too,” he said, no longer trying to break the look and leave, in fact almost reluctant to relinquish it. He knew he would have to, soon enough, but perhaps he wouldn’t have to go just yet. He realised he was trying not to blink.

Harry smiled again, a little more broadly, but made no more moves, seemingly content to stand, stare, and be rained on. It was Severus who took the next step, so that they were standing toe to toe, but not quite touching yet. He couldn’t keep the faintest hint of a smile from his own face as he looked down at Harry, finally allowing himself to look in truth. The changes he had noticed almost in passing struck him suddenly, like a blow to the gut.

“What’s wrong?” Harry said, his look suddenly concerned. 

Severus shook his head. How could he explain that a thirty year old Harry was very different from the twenty-four year old one he had last seen? That it was incredibly disconcerting to realise that the person who’d always been ‘young’ to him, simply by virtue of being twenty years younger, was suddenly more than creeping up on middle age. “Nothing,” he said, taking a grip on himself. “It’s not important.”

Harry nodded, as if he understood, and he did. There were streaks of grey in Severus’ still thick hair now – only a few, but there had been none the last time he’d seen him. Wrinkles were beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes. He looked tired, not exactly thin, but more as if he’d been working too hard and occasionally forgetting to eat.

“So,” he said, more to fill the heavy, anticipatory silence than because he had something in particular to say. His hand came up of its own accord in an old, almost instinctive gesture, and pushed a lock of sodden, greying hair out of Severus’ face, tucking it behind an ear.

The older man couldn’t help the automatic way his breath caught in response to the brush of Harry’s fingers over his cheekbone. Harry’s mouth quirked, and he moved his hand to rest against Severus’ cheek, the gesture not quite a caress. “So,” Severus replied, making no effort to move.

Harry leaned forward a little, hesitated, his hand pressing a little more firmly against the other man’s skin, feeling the warmth, the familiar texture of his skin. The reality was so much more vivid than his memories, and he savoured it. Seeing that Severus really wasn’t going to pull away, he leaned in even more and brushed his lips against the taller man’s. That was all he’d intended at first – a simple gesture to show that he, at least, had not forgotten what was between them, and had no intention of letting it go now that he had Severus back, if only for a short while. He knew it couldn’t – wouldn’t – be very long at all, and was already resigned.

When he dropped his hand and moved away slightly, though, Severus’ arms came up to take his face between his hands, and pull him back again. Harry was surprised, but allowed himself to be guided into another kiss, the other man’s lips easing over his, tongue asking entrance. He granted it gladly, parting his lips, caressing Severus’ tongue with his own, both of them a little clumsy with eagerness and lack of practice. For a while, they both willingly lost themselves in the feelings they had been denied so long, near-delirious with the unexpected pleasure of it all.

Harry tasted of odd spices, Severus noted, not the usual ones of Hogwarts, nor yet the flavours of his own cooking. He smelled different too, now that he was this close. He no longer smelled of magic, of the elusive scents of potion ingredients – he had never worked much with them, but after all he had been living with Severus, who had always had trouble separating his work from the rest of his life. He pushed the thoughts away from his conscious mind. For all the changes, it was still Harry, and a Harry who still, impossibly, wanted him. 

The rain still sheeted down, soaking them and everything else. Neither of them noticed the cold or wet for a very long time, however, rapt in the warmth of the kisses they exchanged.

***

The rain was slackening, slowing to a mere drizzle once again by the time they finally pulled apart a little. Harry ducked his head for a moment, his cheeks feeling heated from the heady effect of their kisses, which had also had a rather predictable effect elsewhere on his body. It was all the more overwhelming for having not been felt for so long, and he had felt an encouragingly similar response from Severus. He lifted his head, shook it slightly to flick away a few drops of rain hanging in his fringe, and offered a slightly shy smile.

Severus looked solemnly down at Harry, hope, speculation and a myriad of other emotions warring for his attention. The faintest hint of a flush lay over his cheekbones as well. He found that he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened, though his mouth felt close to bruised from the passion that had flared so intensely and unexpectedly.

Harry was still looking up at him, waiting for a reaction. After a while, though, he grew tired of waiting. “D’you,” he began, feeling himself blush more. It had been a very long time, after all, and he couldn’t quite believe he was about to suggest this when Severus had only been here such a short while. “Er, d’you want to go someplace else? Less wet, maybe?”

The corner of Severus’ mouth quirked, and Harry shivered at the so-familiar heat that flared in his eyes. “That would be perfect, Harry,” the other man replied, and in the instant’s pause before his name, Harry could feel the unspoken ‘my’ that sent matching heat in the wake of the shiver.

As they walked toward the gates, Harry reached out and took Severus’ hand, not wanting to relinquish their connection so soon. Severus looked down at him, a hint of surprise showing, but didn’t pull his hand away, as Harry had half-expected. Instead, he used the grip to pull the younger man closer, and Harry went willingly, smiling again.

They walked slowly towards Harry’s house. Severus was torn between the conflicting impulses to pull the other man closer, and to let go of his hand as if burned at the mere thought of being seen like that in public. He managed to sublimate both urges, however, and instead walked beside Harry, acutely conscious of the contact between them, and endeavouring to appear as if it was a perfectly normal situation. From the occasional glance Harry shot him, he wasn’t fooled.

There was another car in the drive, a dark green hatchback. “Ron’s home,” commented Harry. Severus gave him a look for stating the obvious, and it felt so usual, so right, despite everything that was not.

Harry let go of Severus’ hand as they approached the door so that he could fumble out his keys, and had to fight down a quite irrational surge of loss. Hermione’s head appeared in the doorway of the living room as they shut the door behind them and slipped off their in the corridor, but she just smiled at them and said, “I see you found him, so I’ll talk to you later.” Severus nodded at her, managing a sort of half-smile that was the best he could do for anyone who wasn’t Harry, Dumbledore, or his mother, and she vanished again.

After a moment of not-quite-uncomfortable silence, Harry said, “My room’s upstairs.” Severus followed him up, noting that the back view had changed much less than the front, though they were still equally attractive in their separate ways.

Harry’s bedroom was neat, much neater than Severus had expected. Certainly far neater than he had ever left their rooms. It went towards confirming Severus’ suspicions that Harry had only been such a slob because he’d known how much it annoyed Severus. He gave Harry an accusing look, and the younger man blushed faintly as if reading his mind, and offered him an innocent smile. The clouds outside had begun to break up, and the sun poked rays out from behind them. A few struck in through the large window, highlighting bits of the room. Severus’ socked feet sank into the soft carpet as he gave it a quick once-over, noting the absence of anything from the wizarding world.

When Harry had closed the door firmly behind him, he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. Then he turned to Severus. The other man turned too, and stared back at him. Suddenly Harry regretted breaking the kisses in the park. The silence was definitely uncomfortable now, uncertain. No matter however much he wanted Severus, he wasn’t sure that this was such a good idea after all.

“Severus,” he said, and cast about for words to explain what he was thinking. He had grown better at thinking about what he was going to say before starting sentences, but somehow he seemed to have forgotten all those hard-earned lessons today. Severus took a step towards Harry, understanding completely. It was so tempting to just reach out, but they both knew it was, not exactly wrong, but not the right thing to do either. But neither of them particularly wanted to resist it. 

Before either of them quite knew what was happening, they were wrapped in another embrace. This one was fiercer than the one in the park, more confident on both their parts. Their mouths pressed together, tongues tangling, hands roaming, a hint of teeth nibbling. Marking, claiming each other again.

Severus broke the kiss with an effort of will, panting for breath. “Wait,” he said, with as much force as he could muster. Not much, in the circumstances. “Wait,” he repeated, but didn’t pull away completely. He couldn’t.

Harry frowned, wrapped his arms tighter around Severus as a precaution in case he decided to do something ridiculous, like try to leave. “Why?” he asked. His momentary objections seemed to have melted away like fog in the sun that now shone unhindered through the window.

“Are you… are you sure, Harry?” Severus struggled to keep his voice neutral. He knew what his answer would be, but didn’t want to pressure the other man. He was willing to live with the consequences he knew would follow, but it had to be Harry’s decision too.

“Yes.” And he was. His voice didn’t shake at all, save with the effort of recovering from the devastating effect of the kiss, short as it had been. “I’m sure.”

Severus looked unconvinced. Harry knew what he needed to hear. “I want this. Want you, still.” He smiled up at him, and after a moment Severus smiled back.

“Good,” he replied before he swooped down to reclaim Harry’s mouth, demanding entrance. Harry opened his mouth eagerly for Severus’ tongue, moaned as Severus’ hands slid caressingly down his back to his arse, felt the quirk of Severus’ lips in response.

He retaliated by chasing Severus’ tongue back to its home, by sliding his hands around between them and beginning to unbutton the other man’s shirt with fingers made clumsy by need, caressing more than strictly necessary. Severus’ moan when he brushed over his nipples through the material was incredibly satisfying. He broke the kiss, breathing harshly, and Severus moved his attention to Harry’s neck, mouthing down to where it met his collarbone. Harry took a sharp breath at the wet swipe of tongue against his skin, then the mouth fastened into the hollow, intent on making a mark.

Severus’ hands were busy on Harry’s buttons, fumbling almost more than Harry’s own. They gave up after a moment, and he wrapped his arms around Harry again. Harry realised that they were moving, and his thoughts were scattered enough – or too focused on the two of them - that it required a moment’s thought to realise that he was being manoeuvred towards the bed. When he understood it, he co-operated as much as he could while still unbuttoning, suddenly desperate to reach skin. 

Severus felt his shirt part, and Harry’s hands glided across his now bare chest just as the backs of his knees met the edge of the bed. He sat down hard when Harry tugged lightly at a nipple, sending sensation shooting through him. It had been so very long, and everything seemed twice as sensitive as he remembered. They were wound so tightly around each other that Harry half-fell on him, knocking him onto his back on the springy mattress, and knocking what little breath he had left out of him. He looked up into Harry’s grinning face, and resolved to concentrate on removing the self-satisfaction he saw printed so clearly there.

He pushed at Harry’s shoulders, and he obligingly moved to one side, freeing Severus so they could shift themselves more comfortably onto the bed. Severus rolled on top of Harry before the younger man had settled himself. Catching him mid-wriggle, he pinned him securely beneath his superior weight and smiled down at him with more than a hint of menace. He leaned forward so he could whisper in Harry’s ear. “You’re going to pay for that,” he murmured, and bit gently at the earlobe.

“God, yes,” muttered Harry, shivering and latching onto the shoulder just in front of him with his mouth. Harry set about making a mark to match the one the other man had made minutes earlier. Severus moaned right by his ear, an incredibly arousing sound, as if what they were doing wasn’t enough by itself, and ground his hips down against Harry’s, their erections meeting through layers of cloth. Harry tugged his mouth away, satisfied with the mark for the moment, and ordered, “Clothes off. Now.”

Severus smirked, and Harry’s stomach lurched in a hint of apprehension. Maybe that hadn’t been such a terribly good idea, but Severus merely gave him a look, said “Yes, sir,” in a more than slightly sarcastic tone, and slipped the last two buttons on Harry’s shirt free of their holes with surprisingly steady fingers. He urged the younger man up so he could slip it off, and sent his own over the side of the bed to follow it. This time when he kissed Harry, their bare skin met from the waist up, and they lingered to savour the feeling again, pressing hard against each other.

As they tried to merge into one another via their mouths, Severus worked his hand into the almost nonexistent space between them. He discovered that it was impossible to work buttons and zippers with Harry grinding insistently up against him, trapping his hand between two lengths of hard flesh. “Not working,” he muttered into Harry’s mouth, and pulled away yet again, half-expecting to hear a tearing sound. He pulled his hand away too, reluctantly. Harry made his displeasure obvious, but quieted – slightly – when he realised the reason.

Between them they managed to shed their trousers and underwear, slightly hindered by their very eagerness. Soon their last articles of clothing had joined their shirts in a pile, and they were tangled together again, this time with nothing between them but the after-effects of six years apart – and those were disappearing fast.

Their hands roamed hungrily over each other, touching, stroking, occasionally pinching. They tried familiar patterns, ever so slightly hesitant from lack of practice, and were struck by new inspiration. Soft sounds filled the air, some part of them both remembering that they could not be too loud, with Ron and Hermione downstairs. For all their explorations though, with unspoken mutual consent they avoided touching their cocks as long as they could, wanting to draw this out. They were content for the time to allow them to rub deliciously between their bodies as they rocked together, and to anticipate what would come.

When Severus could take it no longer, could feel the tension in Harry’s body a perfect match for his, he lifted his head from Harry’s chest where he had been lavishing attention. He sealed his mouth to Harry’s again, sliding his tongue past the parted lips. Then he slid his hand between them again, down to grasp both their erections as best he could. Harry whimpered at the first touch of his hand, and he would have smiled victoriously if he hadn’t let out a shockingly needy groan at the same moment.

One stroke, awkward from the angle and the lack of space, but perfect all the same. Harry pulled his head away, looked at him slightly cross-eyed from inches away, his eyes more than a little glazed. “Want you,” he said, and Severus resolved to leave the torture for later. They both needed this too much now. He started to move away, to look for lubricant, to prepare Harry, something, but couldn’t quite make himself.

He shook his head and removed his hand. Harry’s eyes focused a little, looking at him in puzzlement. “Better idea,” he said, abandoning any attempt at full sentences as too challenging, and ground down against Harry again in demonstration.

Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head at the effect of the unexpected increase in pressure and friction. “Oh, yes,” he murmured when he gathered a few brain cells back together. He slid his hands down to grab Severus’ arse and pull him even closer, their erections in perfect alignment, wrapped his legs around the backs of Severus’ knees as best he could, tilted his hips up to increase the delicious friction.

Severus retaliated by wrapping his arms around Harry again, pulling them into an even better position with precious little gentleness. They rocked and ground together, passion escalating rapidly beyond any hope of control, hands clamped against each other’s skin, mouths seeking blindly for yet more contact. “Oh god,” Harry half-sobbed, “Severus,” as the heat built and built until it felt like he was going to catch fire. He’d thought he’d remembered everything, but his memories had been just a pale shadow next to this conflagration. He felt like he was going to implode, like every inch of skin rubbing against Severus was linked directly to his desperate prick. Severus’ mouth spilled incoherent noises, word-fragments between desperate kisses.

“Almost,” Harry muttered, reaching desperately for the release he could almost taste. One word came clear in the confusion Severus uttered. His name, in that gorgeous voice, in that tone which no-one had used around him in six years though he’d occasionally heard it from Ron and Hermione’s room when he’d gotten up in the middle of the night for one reason or another. And then he was coming helplessly, lost in a white-hot liberation that was like nothing he could create on his own, almost screaming, completely forgetting that they were not alone in the house. 

Severus felt the tension in the body under him increase impossibly a moment before wetness flooded between them and Harry cried out wordlessly. He had a heartbeat to register it before he was there too, pressing his forehead into the hollow of Harry’s throat and almost choking on the reality of it all. He clung to the other man as he spilled out all the frustration of six years and the tight-wound pleasure of the last half-hour in a release so complete it was almost painful before he collapsed bonelessly on top of Harry.

They lay there for a few moments, shattered physically and emotionally, before Harry grunted slightly and pushed at Severus. It was a feeble movement, but Severus groaned and rolled away, mustering up a half-smile for Harry. With them no longer pressed so closely together, the wet stickiness at his groin was not nearly so pleasant, and he reached automatically towards the bedside table to clean up before he remembered that his wand wasn’t there. The thought was enough to dispel a little of the pleasant heaviness, but it wasn’t enough to make him want to move any more.

Harry smiled wryly at him and pried himself out of the bed with considerable reluctance. He disappeared through the door that led to his bathroom and returned a few moments later with a wet towel in his hand. “Muggles tend to use these,” he said with a grin as he handed it to Severus. He slipped back into the bed, snuggling close to the other man once he’d discarded the cloth. It was warm, and comfortable with their arms wrapped around each other again and the feeling of Severus’ skin against his. “Love you,” he whispered, a simple affirmation, and didn’t even have to hear the almost inaudible reply. Outside his window the sun was shining as if it was trying to deny that there had ever been any rain.

“So,” Harry said, after a while, his head pillowed comfortably on Severus’ shoulder. “What was that message again?”

***

On Sunday afternoon, Severus sat on the sofa in the living room beside Harry, sunlight bathing them through the open window. Ron and Hermione had already said their polite goodbyes, and given him some letters to owl to Ron’s family when he got back to Hogwarts. Then they had left, allowing Severus and Harry a little more time together. They sat in silence now, once again having already said everything of import. As the clock’s hand ticked once more, moving to point to five to five, they both stood, knowing it was time.

They turned to face each other, exchanged one last, lingering kiss, but didn’t move apart when they finally separated. “I suppose…” Harry began, then changed his mind. “Bye, Severus,” he said instead, simply.

“Goodbye, Harry,” Severus replied, his expression almost perfectly impassive. “I shall see you again soon.”

Harry nodded, and he believed it. Severus always kept his promises. This time the separation would not be so long. One way or another, they would be seeing each other soon, and if all worked out as Dumbledore had planned, it might even be in the wizarding world. His life here was not unendurable at all, but it was not what he wanted, and he would give it all up gladly in an instant if he could go back.

“Love you,” he said, and moved away, but only one step.

Severus nodded and reached into his pocket, producing the innocuous-seeming keys as the clock’s hands moved to five o’clock. Harry smiled at him as best he could, and it was not quite as hard as he had expected. The last thing he saw was a faint, reassuring return smile just as the Portkey activated.

Harry stood there for a moment, storing that image carefully away, the smile still lingering on his lips, and hope in his heart, before he walked out of the room and up the stairs to his bedroom. He still had to work on the project he had to present the next day. The world wouldn’t stand still even for such disrupting events as Severus’ visit, and besides his work he had a great many other things to do, both for Dumbledore, and to prepare for his return – hopefully soon – to the wizarding world.

A few minutes after he sat down at his desk, having managed to write a bare ten words, he put his pen aside again. Sliding open the top drawer to his right, he rummaged around in it, pushing papers aside until his fingers scrabbled against a smooth, cool, rectangular shape.

Extracting the photo, the silver frame slightly tarnished, he put it on a corner of the desk, and smiled at it. In the photo, he and Severus smiled back. He nodded in satisfaction, and turned back to his project, with the image of times that would – he hoped – be coming again to watch over him.


End file.
